


Fast

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Brittany are the fastest girls in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast

_I’m feeling frisky, you're feeling good. I guess the whiskey is doing what it should_

 

Mike’s shooting pool with Sam when they walk in. He just got paid and his life is like that old Alan Jackson song.

The work shirt with his name embroidered on the chest doesn't stop a few of the Friday evening regulars from eyeing him. There’s one and well, let’s just say he _would_ , but she’s _very_ taken and he cares more about keeping his nose where it is. For now, he has everything he needs anyway. His arms ache but the beer is cold and he just won forty bucks kicking Sam’s ass in eight-ball. Twice.

Sam goes for refills and spends a good five minutes flirting with the bartender. Shannon is old enough to be his mother but he smiles and works that good ol’ boy charm and for every five pitchers they buy, she gives them one for free. It’s definitely worth the wait. He's retrieving the balls and looking forward to skinning an even sixty off his friend when he sees her.

The first thing he notices is her eyes. They’re greenish gold like a jungle cat. The second thing he notices is her hair, cut in that jagged way that looks a mess but is obviously done on purpose. It's mostly pink but a little blonde underneath and he wonders what possessed her to dye it because she just doesn’t seem 'pink' at all. Not with those knee high leather boots and skintight jeans. Not with the colorful dragon tattoo curving around her biceps and up over her shoulder. And certainly not in that barely-there tank top that brings him right to the third thing he notices about her.

Mike tries not to be a dick, he really does, but her rack is amazing and it’s right there. He forces himself to stop ‘noticing’ it as she and her friend order at the bar. She goes straight for a shot and it's too much. The only thing he loves more than a good girl is a good girl gone bad.

He must stand there spaced out for some time because when Sam elbows him to hand him a beer, less than half the balls sit in the rack and Sam gives him this knowing smirk that kind of makes him look like a dope.

"Totally smoking right? I think I have a shot with the blonde one"

They're both sort of blonde but he means Pink’s leggy friend with the bright blue eyes who catches Sam’s eye and waves enthusiastically. He waves back and they smile at each other and Mike thinks it might actually work out for him.

The game starts and Mike keeps his eyes on the table because regardless of how nice her body is, he’s not going to just stare at some girl and risk making her uncomfortable. There’s a line between just being a dude and just being a tool. Still, he definitely plans to gauge her interest if she's still there after his turn.

He’s two balls away from collecting another twenty.

“Six. Corner pocket.” he says, lining up his shot.

“I wouldn't if I were you.”

The voice is low and raspy and so sexy. He knows it’s _her_.

“Look…Mike. Your angle is all wrong”, she gestures at the table. “Maybe if you were left handed."

She's challenging him and it’s not coy at all. She’s dead serious.

“You think you can make it?”

“Oh yeah. I’m equally good with both hands.”

Her friend laughs and nods in agreement and the two of them share a look that makes Mike shift uncomfortably. He’s been hovering over the table the entire conversation and when she leans down flush against him, part of him, the overly optimistic part, expects a kiss but she just slides her fingers around the cue and hip-checks him out of the way.

She sinks the shot.

“Piece of cake.”

Mike is now one ball from winning another twenty. She makes that as well and then knocks the eight ball in cleanly. The twenty on the table disappears into her pocket before she turns to face him.

“So, that your Goat out there?”

He nods and can feel his chest expanding, but whatever. He has a ’65 Pontiac GTO. It is _the_ car and it’s badass. It took him a long time to save up for it and there's no way he plans to be modest.

“Yeah. Sam and me just finished restoring her. She drives like magic.”

Okay, he’s gushing like a fool, but she’s asking him about the specs and not even teasing him so she must know what he's talking about. He got it from zero-to-sixty in five flat last weekend and this girl looks so impressed that Mike feels like he just won the jackpot.

She watches him rerack the balls while Sam gets more drinks. He’s not nervous but he wishes Sam would take less time talking up her friend at the bar

"Hey, what's your name?"

“Why do you want to know?”

“You know mine. It's only fair.”

“It's Quinn. Any more questions?”

“Maybe I could take you for a ride sometime?”

“Maybe.”

Her friend calls her and as she brushes past Mike, her hand trails over his stomach and down over his hip before falling to her side. This mix of aloof and forward is seriously messing with his head.

The girls stand at the jukebox poring over the limited song selection. After a moment, the tall one claps her hands as the opening notes of _Red Solo Cup_ float through the bar. Sam beams like he just found his soulmate. It’s so funny that Mike grudgingly slaps his palm when he holds his arm up for a high five.

They set up another game. Sam breaks and manages to knock a few balls in before he starts to look for Quinn. She’s not at the bar and neither is her friend. He thinks they must both have gone to the bathroom.

Then he hears the engine. _His_ engine. He knows that sound the way a mother knows the cry of her child.

He scrambles to the window just in time to see pulling open the passenger door.

“Hey, that’s my fucking car!”

“What?” Sam's been eyeing his shot for the last thirty seconds, oblivious to what’s going down.

“Man, lets go.”

It takes two and a half tries to get Sam’s truck started, at which point Mike is just like, come _on_. Sam likes to use things until they literally fall apart. While his threadbare shirts and jeans with holes in the knees never fail to attract the country girls, Mike wants to punch him right now. It’s better than wanting to punch Quinn. Or more deservedly, punching himself for being an idiot.

He knows the exact second when she lifted his keys. And at that moment he was thinking about getting her into his car in another way entirely.

The road from the bar runs straight for miles so they keep his car in sight. Sam floors the gas and the truck vibrates like it’s about to collapse, but it closes the gap.  The girls cut through a field to access a side road. It's a mistake. Sam's truck ain't much, but it handles bumpy terrain better than his car. They come back onto the road with less than a fifty-foot gap.

This road zigzags into these deep curves that Mike forgot about until his car disappears around a bend. He also forgot the curves are what make this the biggest speed trap in the county. The road straightens and the gap widens again, but the siren going off behind them poses a bigger concern. It’s clear they won't catch his car anyway so Sam pulls over.

As the officer cuffs him, Mike curses and asks the universe why this happened to him. He's a good guy who just wanted a drink.

The fact that this is still sort of like an Alan Jackson song is very little consolation.

****

They're still laughing when Brittany pulls into the garage.

Quinn slides out of the car to properly admire it.

It’s a thing of beauty, painted in this deep royal purple with silver detailing. She'd moaned a little when she first saw it sitting in the parking lot. A single glance at Brittany was enough to put the plan into action.

She's lost count of how many times they've done this.

Brittany pops the hood and they take a look.

“This is perfect, Quinn.”

“Not quite.” Fine, she’ll admit Mike and his friend really fixed this car up and did good work, but it isn’t great and it certainly isn’t perfect. But it will do. She closes the hood and leans back against it.

“But it was totally worth it. Even though I didn't get to finish my drink.”

“So have one here.”

She knows that smirk, especially when it's coupled with Brittany pulling out the bottle of tequila she keeps here just for Quinn. There are no glasses, but they just stole a car so now is not the time to harp on what's ladylike and what isn't. Not when Brittany is pushing her against the car and nudging her roughly onto it.

The mouth on her neck is hot and there for just a moment before Brittany sprinkles salt there. She takes her own swig from the bottle, swallows and takes another smaller sip. Brittany presses closer, the buckle of her belt pressing into Quinn’s stomach. Her mouth is warm on the side of Quinn's neck again, this time lapping up the salt before kissing her.

In theory, she’s supposed to open her lips and pour the alcohol into Brittany's mouth but instead Brittany's tongue slides into her mouth and takes it from her. Brittany kisses her long after the tequila is gone, nibbling on her bottom slip and sucking on her tongue. When she pulls back Quinn's legs wrap tight around her hips and she’s breathing heavily.

“So,” Brittany says, feigning bashfulness. “Are you free tonight?”

She rolls her eyes because she knows what Brittany wants to ask and Brittany knows her answer. All in all, this is just not a good enough reason to stop kissing.

“Get me another drink and well see.”

Brittany grabs the bottle just as Quinn yanks her closer by the front of her shirt.

Who needs limes?

****

Brittany's mouth still tastes like Quinn and Cuervo when they pile back into the car and take off for McKinley Point, the nearly abandoned stretch of road out by the warehouse district.

Quinn’s a little quieter now; she doesn’t like this part as much as she pretends to.

Every Friday, dozens of people gather on this quarter mile section of road because it’s perfect for racing. Every Friday, if she has the time, Brittany’s there. She can tell Quinn finds racing dangerous and a little stupid even if she never says so. But this car is amazing and she has to try it out. Quinn gets her excitement from getting the cars and being smarter than everyone else. Brittany likes feeling the power rumble beneath her and being _faster_ than everyone else.

They pull into a wide alley lined with at least twenty cars. The people milling about mostly came for the show. She drives past shirtless guys leaning on their cars, girls wearing even less clothing and stops next to Jake’s car.

She waves; he nods in greeting. Quinn laughs and he frowns at her. Jake is cute, but he’s like a baby badass, one day he's going to be as tough as he acts.

They get to the top of the road where her completion waits. Finn drives a Boss 302 and wears this flashy leather jacket. He looks good, but he’s trying way too hard. Quinn says he looks like a bootleg Danny Zuko, but his pants aren't nearly that tight and he's also probably not gay for his best friend. He smirks at her and it's annoying how much he underestimates her when he’s seen her drive, but Brittany's OK with his cockiness. She's the one who’s going to take home over a thousand in cash tonight.

“All right, guys ante up.” She hands her fee over to Jake while Finn rustles a handful of crumpled bills out of his pocket.

Jake counts it and nods at them.

“Same as always. Around the turn and back. First to cross the line wins.”

She and Finn head back to their cars and approach up to the starting line. He revs his engine and Brittany barely resists rolling her eyes at him. His girl, a pretty brunette with blue eyes, plants a chaste kiss on his cheek.

She turns to Quinn.

“Kiss for good luck?”

Quinn sighs like it’s a big chore but leans into the window anyway and presses their lips together. Her hand tangles in Brittany’s hair and scratches the back of her neck. Maybe a kiss wasn’t a good idea because now she’s just thinking about what Quinn’s got on under her skirt and how soon she can get her home, or in the backseat, or behind a tree, or anywhere. They don’t break apart until Jake whistles at them.

The race starts with a squeal of tires. Brittany can tell from the first few seconds how it’s going to go.

They’re neck and neck, but Finn’s driving is stiff and mechanical, like a robot. He isn’t a bad driver, she’s pretty sure he’d make like a million dollars if he got a taxi; he's just unimaginative. But then, he drives a cherry red Mustang so nobody should expect too much. And maybe Brittany has a reputation for recklessness and has totaled more than one car, but you've got to play big to win big. Finn doesn’t have the nerve for racing because he won’t take risks and he won’t commit. Which makes it easy for her to edge him onto the shoulder of the road before flooring the gas and speeding past the finish line.

She collects her winnings but keeps her eyes peeled for the real prize.

Quinn doesn’t necessarily like it when she races. But Quinn likes winners. And Brittany _never_ loses.

One of the best parts about racing is how turned on Quinn gets when she wins. When she spots Brittany, her eyes burn with something that promises a good night. It's easy to ignore the flood of congratulations and squeeze through the crowd to grab Quinn hips and sink into her. This kiss is dirty and all tongue and teeth. Quinn growls low in the back of her throat and they need to get out of here _now_.

Quinn sits primly in the car with her legs crossed towards the window. It’s cute how she tries to control herself, but Brittany would rather she didn’t. She tries to interfere by placing a hand on Quinn’s knee and sliding her fingers and under the edge of her skirt. Quinn grabs her wrist, squeezing hard but not brushing it away, instead holding it there halfway up the inside of her thigh. Brittany keeps massaging gently until she needs her hand to shift gears.

She barely gets out of the car before Quinn is on her. She bites up Brittany’s neck and mutters into her ear.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm, I want to fuck you so much right now.”

This is the closest Quinn ever gets to dirty talk and its still enough to drive Brittany crazy.

The fall onto the ratty couch in the corner with Quinn settling on top of her. She lays back; fully content to let Quinn do whatever she wants. It's not often Quinn gets all pushy like this and she's learned to enjoy being flat on her back whenever her girl is moving her hips like that. However, she’s not OK with all the clothes they’re both wearing. She forces Quinn back long enough to struggle out of her shirt but doesn't succeed in relieving Quinn of hers because she just slides down Brittany's torso nipping and sucking a wet trail down her skin. She spends an extravagant amount of time tracing the tattoo on Brittany's stomach from where it starts just to the side of her navel to where it wraps around her hip. Her tattoo is really detailed and Quinn licks along each line and swirl of ink.

Brittany tries to stay still so Quinn can have her fun, but her hips jerk controllably against the hands holding her down. She runs a hand through the shock of pink hair tickling her belly, tugging lightly until Quinn surges forward to let Brittany kiss her again.

Quinn finally pulls her shirt off and stretches over her. It's hot and sweaty. Skin slicks against skin and they rush to hike up skirts and pull down zippers. Quinn's fingers find her and sink inside. The pressure, the angle, everything is just right and she's going to come in a matter of minutes.

Brittany makes short work of Quinn's panties and is secretly smug about the wetness she finds there. She sets a matching rhythm and they’re just crushed together now, gasps and murmurs mingling in the air between them. It unclear who’s going to come first but Quinn obviously wants it to be Brittany, if the rough command husked into her ear means anything. That's cool by Brittany; it only takes a few seconds to recover enough to take care of the frustrated girl on top of her.

She eases her arm from where it’s trapped between them and squirms a little to get more comfortable. Any real movement is impossible with Quinn slumped solidly on top of her. Still, the cushions are soft if well worn. Quinn puffs out a content sigh against her shoulder and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

****

Quinn insists on driving. It’s not a big deal since it’s just a drive through town, but Quinn has a lead foot and her insurance premiums are already high enough because of all the moving violations and speeding tickets. And they really don’t need to get pulled over in someone else’s car. But it’s really hard for Brittany to say no to Quinn when her hair is all messy from sleep and her own hands.

They found paperwork in the glove box indicating that the car belongs to Mr. Michael Chang Jr. It’s just after five and the sun is peeking up over the houses on the quiet street. Quinn drives the GTO and Brittany follows in the beloved PT Cruiser that Quinn mocks endlessly. She waits by the sidewalk while Quinn pulls the car into the driveway. When she doesn’t immediately come back, Brittany unfastens her seatbelt and goes to see what’s up.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving a note. I want to let him know everything’s fine and that I also noticed a few things that need to be addressed. Listen:

‘Dear Mike: Thanks for letting us borrow your car. We filled the tank for you. Additionally we had to change the oil and the tires since they were bald. Please try to take proper care of this vehicle or we might have to liberate it permanently. Best, Q’”

Quinn looks super pleased with herself and God, sometimes Brittany can’t figure out why she isn’t one of those bitchy librarians who yell at you for leaving dirty fingerprints in the books and making too much noise.

“It’s fine. Come on before someone sees us.”

She honks the horn twice. They pull off just as the screen door opens and poor Mike steps onto the porch wearing nothing but boxers and a confused frown.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't hate Mike. And I really feel bad about what I've put him through the last few fics. Poor Mike. Next time he's going to get the girl and the car. I promise.


End file.
